Indulgence
by Jessica237
Summary: Moderation is the key. KD. Promo speculation fic for 5x09: Recovery.


**Title: **Indulgence**  
By:** Jessica**  
Pairing: **Kensi/Deeks**  
Rating:** T**  
Timeline:** Promo speculation fic for 5x09: Recovery  
**Summary: **Moderation is the key. ;)

**A/N:** I don't even know. I'm told that I am no longer allowed to speculate though. Based on the picture (y'all know the one) and a couple of mild spoilers that everybody who's read the press release knows. I hope this is a fun read, I'm nervous because I haven't written in over a month and clearly I'm a bit rusty, lol. Gotta fight my way back. ;)

* * *

She's halfway through her scripted spiel on the benefits that a healthy lifestyle can have for one's mental well-being when he interrupts her, a devious glimmer in his eyes. "So you're saying that if I have the salad instead of fried chicken and potato wedges, I'll be cured of my…addiction?"

Kensi frowns. "Well, no, it's not quite _that_ simple. The idea is that making good choices in one area of your life, like choosing to eat healthy, will promote making good choices in other areas." It sounds just as ridiculous coming out of her mouth as it had sounded while still locked away inside her head. They're quite a pair on this assignment, and Kensi's certain that Sam and Callen are positively cackling. Kensi, a licensed nutritionist, and Deeks, addicted to sex. What a pair, indeed.

"So, how does that work out for you?" Deeks prods, and Kensi furrows her brow, confused. Her partner merely grins, playfully tapping her ankle with his beneath the table. "The whole 'making healthy choices' thing," he clarifies. "Because I've got this feeling - given the choice, I don't think you would _ever_ choose an apple over a big piece of chocolate cake."

"Well, moderation is the key with that," Kensi replies back, already knowing that she is _never_ going to live this down. These are going to be the quotes that he teases her with every morning when all she wants is a large, sugary, cream-filled doughnut; it'll be what she hears at the end of a long day at work when she suggests takeout and a movie (something they've been doing more and more often lately anyway…moderation, indeed). "Cake should be…special," she says lamely, fighting the urge to glare at her partner as he snorts in amusement. "It shouldn't be your dessert _every_ night, but it's perfectly okay to indulge every now and then."

"Indulge, eh?"

Kensi smiles. "Think about it like a reward," she continues. "Something you deserve for an accomplishment – in this case, maybe it's a Friday night treat for a week's worth of making healthy dinner choices."

She continues on, no doubt following the script one-hundred percent – Deeks is pretty sure she'd read it over and over, attempting to memorize it before this encounter. _That's my girl_, he thinks, a slight smile tugging the corners of his mouth. Kensi Blye loves to be in control; she likes to know what's happening next and she likes to have a well-thought out, concrete plan for dealing with it. She likes predictability, and when things go her way, there's not a single person out there who is better than she is.

And Deeks _loves_ that about his partner. He loves that look in her eyes and the cocky lilt of her voice when she's completely and absolutely sure of herself. He'd never say it to her face for fear of losing a limb, but Deeks finds it _ridiculously_ sexy.

But while he loves that, there's also no denying that he also loves the rare moments that she finds herself knocked off-balance. Those moments when _he's_ the one to knock her off-balance, leaving the pages of her script scattered in the dust. And as she continues to talk about eating healthily and making positive lifestyle changes and other such things that Krispy Kreme Blye should never, _ever _in a million years be allowed to say with a straight face, Deeks decides that it's time to have a little bit of fun.

After all, if she's going to play _her_ part, well, he might as well play his. "What if I told you," he begins quietly, his words cutting into the middle of her sentence. She stops, blinking a couple of times as the confusion begins to settle into her. It was simple – they were supposed to have this public consultation in the dining room of the rehab center. It was merely for show; merely a ploy to appear occupied to anyone watching them while they scoped the center for suspicious behavior.

With a grin slowly tugging at his lips, Deeks decides it's probably time to make his character a little more believable; a little more authentic. In the grand scheme of things, while they're watching for anything suspicious, he thinks that to those watching _them_, it might be _more_ suspicious for him to have an easy, simple conversation with the gorgeous nutritionist, given his…_background._

He lets his gaze roam slowly over her, lingering just a moment too long at her chest; she's got three buttons on her top tantalizingly undone, revealing just a teasing hint of her cleavage. The sharp sound of his cover name reaches his ears, and Deeks lets his eyes rise to meet hers again, the grin on his face positively wolfish as he finally finishes his sentence, all too aware of how the atmosphere between them has suddenly shifted. "I said, what if I told you…that I wanted to indulge right now?"

Kensi swallows hard. "Maybe after dinner," she says. "You'll just have to wait and see what the dessert choices are tonight."

Deeks hums softly, flicking his tongue out over his lips. "Why wait?" he breathes, shifting slightly in his chair. "I checked myself into this place voluntarily – can I not check myself out voluntarily as well?"

"Well, I guess technically, but –"

He cuts her off again. "But nothing. Rehab's just not for me. I thought I wanted help, but…" He shakes his head. "That's not what I want at all."

"Then what _do_ you want?"

He thinks that maybe, just maybe, he shouldn't break carelessly through their every last professional and personal boundary with his answer, but then again, if Kensi _didn't_ want him to answer, maybe she shouldn't have asked. "I want to be at my place, right now…"

The momentary pause utterly crackles with tension, defined by an undeniable current of electricity. It's the same electricity that Kensi finds herself shocked with as she holds her partner's gaze, the sparks in his deep crystal blues threatening to ignite a wildfire deep inside of her. She's not able to recover before he continues, tacking one last phrase onto his voiced wish, one last phrase that resonates far more loudly than it should through every fiber of her being. "With _you_."

_It's an act_, Kensi tells herself. _He's just in character. Just like you_. But those silent reassurances aren't enough to stop the shiver that courses oh so deliciously through her body…and there's no way she could ever pass that off as belonging to her undercover alias. No, that's all Kensi, and she's all but certain that it shows as she shakes her head, struggling to find her voice but only able to manage one quiet, stunned word. "What?"

She had _not_ prepared for this. In retrospect, maybe she _should_ have, because at the end of the day, the man sitting across from her is still her partner. He's still Marty Deeks, and his favorite thing to do is one-up her.

He's the only person who can ever truly succeed at it.

Nobody, _nobody_ has _ever_ gotten underneath her skin the way that Marty Deeks has.

"You heard me." With that, Deeks leans forward, dropping his voice intimately as his words become meant for her ears only. "I want…to take you home, _right now_," he breathes. His gaze never wavers from hers, not even for the merest of seconds. "I want…to pin you against the wall, undo that shirt button by button, so very slowly until you're _begging_ me for more."

Kensi gapes, feeling the rush of heat flood her cheeks. This was supposed to be a scripted conversation, a scripted conversation that was supposed to be _nothing_ – just something to fill the silence, lines written by someone else to fit both their assigned roles.

But as always, Deeks had deviated from the script. He'd taken this alias and made it his own, no doubt with the very objective of getting Kensi flustered.

(She's loathe to admit that that's _exactly_ what he's accomplishing.)

She clears her throat, tearing her eyes away from his. "I don't think this is an _appropriate _conversation," she says evenly, clasping her hands together atop the table.

"Why not?" he asks smoothly, flashing her a grin that she catches in her peripheral sight – _damn him and that grin. _"You asked me what I wanted, didn't you? It would be…inappropriate _not_ to answer." Deeks pauses for a beat, then decides to push the stakes even higher (oh _God_, she is going to _kill_ him for this). He reaches across the table, gently brushing a knuckle over the top of her hand. "You know, I thought you wanted to _help_ me…"

Incredulity in her eyes, Kensi pushes his touch away. "I _do_ want to help you," she states, managing the perfect amount of annoyance in her voice – underneath, though, she's not annoyed. She's flustered, and Lord help her if he keeps talking…

"Then _help_ me," he breathes. "Because I _need_ you, okay? You have _no_ idea how bad I need you right now…"

That's all she can take. And really, if she _were_ merely the resident nutritionist, she would have gotten up and walked away when this conversation had first begun to cross the line. But instead, she's a woman with a flutter in her chest and liquid heat pooling deep in her belly; a woman slowly conquered by three years' worth of feelings for the man in front of her, for her _partner_.

She tries to tell herself that she's simply not yet over the shock of nearly losing him six months ago; that the desire she feels is misplaced, misnamed.

But then again, if she's honest, she'd wanted him long before that fateful day.

Swallowing hard, she pushes her chair back from the table and rises to her feet, hating herself for the slight tremble in her knees. It's almost nothing, barely there, even; it's enough though to make her feel unsteady on her feet; unsteady as her partner's eyes, now a deep, seductive shade of cobalt, glide their way over her again. The appreciation in his gaze is enough to bring warmth to her cheeks again and Kensi clears her throat, crossing her arms over he chest. "This consultation is over," she says simply, ready to head for the door.

But as soon as she takes her first step, Deeks is on his feet and in her path so quickly that she's dizzied. His finger close gently around her wrist and Kensi can't help but tense as he leans in, whispering right into her ear. "I want you," he breathes and Kensi damn near whimpers as his breath dances gently over her cheek. "I want you in my bed, _tonight._ I want…to drive you crazy, make you scream my name. Do you know how bad I want that?"

At that point, it's all beyond her control. Heart beating rapidly against the wall of her chest, Kensi stumbles out of character for a mere moment. She can't help it; can't stop the palm that finds its way to his hip, can't stop the way her entire being reacts to him – to his presence, his touch, his voice, his scent. _Everything._ "Deeks…" she whispers.

The tremor in her voice doesn't go unheard by him. His lips twitch, but he doesn't react more than that – they're still on an assignment; there's still a job to do and that little whisper of his name is a warning that for the present moment, this has gone as far as it can be allowed to go. The next words out of his mouth reflect that – back to the case. "At your three – by the far window," he whispers, his lips barely moving. "That's the guy I saw earlier."

It takes her a moment, but eventually Kensi manages a quick nod. She takes a step back and glances discreetly in the direction her partner had pointed her. "Like I said," she says icily, and Deeks has to bite back a smile – it's as if her momentary break in cover had never happened (though, quite happily, he's got the audio proof that it had). "This consultation is over."

(Of course, the nature of his character _requires_ him to watch appreciatively as she retreats.)

* * *

At the conclusion of the case, Kensi makes no effort to hide her irritation. "I am going to _kill_ you," she growls as she stomps into the bullpen, after her final debriefing for the case.

Deeks just grins, resting casually against the edge of her desk. Few years ago, he might have been frightened by that fire in her eyes. Now, though, he just likes to play with that fire. He doesn't mind an angry Kensi, even if she _is_ angry at him (and he's quite certain that she can't stay angry at him for long). "Someone's creating a hostile work environment tonight," he quips.

"I'll show you hostile."

"Hetty won't like it if you hurt her favorite."

"Oh, I will _happily_ face her wrath," Kensi retorts, narrowing her eyes. "What the hell _was_ that back there?"

The grin on Deeks' scruffy face only widens (and Kensi absolutely does _not_ have the inexplicable, sudden, _ridiculous_ desire to kiss that grin right off his face. Nope. _Definitely _not). "I was in character, Fern," he defends cheekily. "I was supposed to be a _sex addict,_ remember? And that script we had – it was just…too vanilla. Too innocent. Nobody would have bought it."

"So you thought you should just improvise? Just like that?" Kensi hisses, shooting him a glare that would turn a lesser man to stone.

Deeks, however, had merely smirked harder. "Come on, Kensalina," he soothes; she digs her teeth into the inside of her cheek at the sound of one of his many ridiculous nicknames for her. "I needed to make it realistic," he says. "And I needed to give you a reason to stand up and leave – so your audio bug would catch our bad guys' little chat. It worked, didn't it?"

Kensi huffs. "You could have been a little more subtle."

At that, Deeks just has to laugh. "One of us had to make it realistic," he insists again. With that, he leisurely slings his computer bag over his shoulder; another long day done and a blessed day off tomorrow – he's got a long overdue date with a board and the blue. Before he sets off toward the exit though, he slips behind his own desk and reaches into one of the drawers. "Because let's be honest," he teases, tossing Kensi a Twinkie from his secret stash, "_nobody_ was going to believe _you_ as a nutritionist."

* * *

_"I want you in my bed, tonight." _

With a sigh, an exhausted Kensi shoves the covers away for quite possibly the twentieth time tonight. It's been three weeks since they'd been undercover together and much to Kensi's annoyance, it's been three weeks since she's been able to find any rest at all.

It's the same routine every night – she closes her eyes and sees his face. His eyes, his smile, that shaggy mop of blonde. She tries to steady herself, drawing in a slow, deep breath, and somehow, his scent is on the wind, which is impossible because he has never even set a foot inside her bedroom (though even the thought is enough to give her a chill now). The first night she'd caught his scent like that, she'd thought she was going crazy – but then she'd remembered what she was sleeping in. An old t-shirt of his, one she'd unceremoniously stolen.

It's in her dresser now, because while having his scent all around her had once calmed her, now, it does exactly the opposite. It quickens her heart, starts a flame in her belly and there is _nothing_ about that that's conducive to sleep. It disappoints her, because God, she misses it. Misses _him_.

_Damn_ that Russian sleeper agent assignment that had given her a taste of what it felt like to wake up in her partner's arms (sometimes, when she wakes alone in her own bed, she swears she can feel him there – that's a trick her sorry imagination had played on her for years after Jack had disappeared). _Damn _those three short weeks that had left her silently craving more, _needing_ more.

Oh, if that was really _all_ it was, though.

Whenever she's close to sleep, she hears him. In her head, in her dreams, in her imagination – whatever. She _hears_ him; sometimes, she hears the smooth, cocky words of his alias with the sex addiction; sometimes, she can't stop just how far her imagination takes it. What if it hadn't been his alias speaking? What if it'd been him? And what if…what if she'd let it happen?

It's those nights that she _hates_ just how damn badly she wants him.

Some nights, she hears _him_. Not an alias, not words from a script. Words spoken with the deepest, most profound honesty Kensi's ever heard in her life; his eyes so blue that she could have drowned within them. She still feels the distance between them, the desperate need to reach out to him, a need she'd silenced instead.

Maybe if she'd reached out to him, he wouldn't have locked himself away for three months. Maybe if she'd reached out to him, she could have been his safe place through the torture _after_ the torture, rather than just through the torture itself.

It's _those_ nights that she hates herself for letting Callen and Sam dictate her actions toward her own partner. Sometimes, Kensi swears she sees a glimpse of resentment in those blue eyes, as if he'll never truly forgive her for choosing what the rest of their team would think, over the pain he was suffering, standing there alone in the bullpen. It's something she won't forgive herself for, but it would _kill_ her if he couldn't.

No matter which of the nights it is though, there's always the same undeniable truth. Marty Deeks has taken up residence in her head, in her imagination, in her dreams, and no matter how many eviction notices she tries to serve him just so maybe she can _finally_ get a bit of sleep, he always seems to find his way back.

Maybe one day, she'll learn to shut the door behind him.

(Then again, he'd just pick the lock.)

Frustrated, Kensi turns onto her stomach, tucking her arms underneath her pillow. She's wide awake, but to pull herself from the bed would be admitting defeat. It would be admitting that he _has_ gotten to her; it would be admitting that she can't get him out of her mind, that he's keeping her awake all hours of the night.

Closing her eyes, she groans softly. Deeks would just _love_ to know that, she thinks. And she can hear him; his smug, gravelly chuckle as he realizes just how much she thinks of him, just how much she _wants_ him.

And _God, _how she _does_ want him.

From there, her imagination sparks like a wildfire, and Kensi is powerless to stop it. She shivers, imagining the scratch of his scruff against her jaw; imagining the skilled, slow press of his lips along her throat, seeking out her racing pulse. His hands, deliberate yet reverent, exploring her body like the way he looks at her, as if she's a goddess (he doesn't know she's caught him looking at her like that a few times…at least, Kensi's pretty sure he doesn't know). Her fingers itch as she imagines threading them into his hair, tugging gently as his mouth finds hers.

And that's something she doesn't have to imagine. That's something she has firsthand knowledge of – the way his lips feel against hers, the way he tastes, the way his palms cup her cheeks roughly yet oh so gently. But unlike the kiss in the desert, these kisses would never stop.

Except…when he separates from her, their breaths mingling as he silently waits for her to open her eyes, to meet his gaze. And she knows that once she does…she won't be able to look away. She can almost feel the weight of him above her, his skin against hers. She can just hear the low, husky whisper of something playfully cocky at her ear, something that has her digging her nails into his shoulders, whispering his first name as the tide pulls her under and if that's how it feels, Kensi doesn't think she ever wants to surface again.

And then, his strong arms are around her, pulling her against his chest as she catches her breath, soft whimpers falling unbidden from her lips as she tucks her head beneath his chin, overwhelmed by the feeling that she'd be content to stay like that with him forever.

But it's just in her imagination; he's not there, and it's not forever. It's not even a single night.

And that's when she realizes that she wants him _so_ badly that it hurts. It's a harsh, empty ache deep in her chest, a void that's been there for years, one she's tried to ignore.

Turning onto her back again, Kensi reaches for her phone on the nightstand. It's still early, just barely past midnight. It's the same routine every night; kick the covers away, toss and turn angrily, glance at the clock and realize just how much nighttime is left, then groan in frustration and repeat the whole process on a nearly hourly basis.

It's always been the same routine.

But tonight, Kensi pauses with her phone in her hand, her bleary eyes staring at the display. He's still on her mind; he'll be there all night, just like he always is these days. And that's when her defenses start to break down – he could be in her imagination all night…or he could be _here._ He could be here _with_ her.

The rational voices in her head immediately realize what she's seriously beginning to contemplate - _this is so not a good idea. _And Kensi always listens. Always – it's kept her out of trouble several times in the past.

But then, she hears her own voice, three weeks back.

"_It's perfectly okay to indulge every now and then." _

What kind of professional would she be if she didn't take her own advice?

Her heartbeat quickens again as she pulls up her contacts list – he's right there at the top of her favorites list (sure, he'd stolen her phone and put his number there himself, but Kensi had never changed it). She falters momentarily, her thumb hovering just above his name.

And then, his voice slips into her mind again, just a quiet whisper that starts a warm flutter in her belly; it's a repeat of an eleventh hour confession a couple of nights after the close of the rehab case, one they'd both silently chosen to forget in the wake of flaring tempers and burning desire. "_I want you, Kens. You." _

She shivers at the memory.

And then without another second's hesitation, Kensi connects the call.


End file.
